


In My Heart of Hearts

by Elvesliketrees



Series: Kink Meme Fills [7]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4279494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvesliketrees/pseuds/Elvesliketrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the kink meme in Round 1: d'Artagnan is nervous when Porthos stands too close to him. It's not that he's afraid of Porthos, specifically, but that Porthos reminds him of an old lover who used to use his size to an advantage and hold d'Artagnan down and hurt him.</p>
<p>Either Athos or Porthos notice this nervousness and finally get him to explain his problem. Porthos feels awful and angry that d'Artagnan's felt this way because of him and tries his best to keep his distance, but d'Artagnan soon comes to the realization that Porthos would never hurt him.</p>
<p>Bonus points if old lover comes back and Porthos/Athos/Aramis put him in his place.</p>
<p>Can be canon, modern, AU, whatever works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Heart of Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Another fill! Warnings for past abuse and a couple of scary moments, though nothing too explicit!

            Porthos grimaced as d’Artagnan flinched away for the umpteenth time since he’d known him. He tried not to let it hurt him, he really didn’t, but the man’s behavior was really starting to get to him. Aramis would put his arms around him and give him a quick kiss before murmuring “I’m sure it’ll be fine love”, but it hadn’t been fine ever since they’d been introduced, and that had been a year ago. Athos gave him a slight glare, obviously aware of Porthos’ hurt, and d’Artagnan mumbled an excuse before fleeing down the hall of their building. Athos gave a huff, and Aramis placed a comforting hand on his bicep, rubbing his hand along the joints. With a sigh, Porthos looked at the path he’d fled down. “Is it me?” Porthos asked softly.

            “Of course not, you’ve done _nothing_ wrong!” Athos scoffed. He was right, Porthos had literally done nothing. At first, he thought it was because d’Artagnan just wasn’t a hugger, and the two had become fast friends. Then, he’d allowed Aramis to hug him at the Christmas party at the office…and had gladly returned the embrace, much to his boyfriend’s confusion. Even Athos was allowed his manly shoulder-clasps. But Porthos was allowed nothing. He’d tried to talk to d’Artagnan about it, but then the evasions began; he had to work, he really had to concentrate on this deal, he was running late for a meeting, the excuses were many and varied. Eventually, confusion had turned to outright hurt. “If this continues, it might be best just to go to Treville. I won’t stand for him treating you like this!” Athos sighed.

            “We might just need to give him time, there might be something going on,” Aramis added quietly. Athos scoffed.

            “He’s known Porthos for a year, surely he could have addressed it by now! I mean, I’m fond of the boy, but I can see how it’s hurting you,” Athos sighed. Porthos gave him a grateful smile, though a small one, and sighed.

            “I’ll go over to his place tonight, try’n talk to ‘im,” he said quietly. They returned to their work, and Porthos drove to d’Artagnan’s apartment after dinner. He clomped up the stairs, and he knocked on the door softly.

            “Porthos!” d’Artagnan cried in surprise, “Hey!”

            “Hey,” he said softly, “Listen, I think we oughta talk.” d’Artagnan looked at him in confusion, but he opened the door and gestured Porthos inside. He shut the door behind him, and Porthos looked at him expectantly.

            “I’m really sorry about today,” d’Artagnan sighed, “I know that this isn’t much consolation, but it isn’t you, I swear.”

            “Thanks pup, that does make me feel at least a bit better, but if it ain’t me, what is it?” Porthos asked quietly. d’Artagnan hung his head and his shoulders tensed as he contemplated telling his good friend his problem. He really did care for Porthos, and he didn’t ever _want_ to flinch away from the big man, but his brain had always worked against him. His brain always put harsh words where there were none, angry glares where there was always kindness, and bruising hands where he knew there was only gentleness. He knew that Porthos wasn’t him, would never be him, but his mind just forgot that at inconvenient moments. How could he explain this to him that he flinched away from Porthos just because he was big? How was that fair to the big man who was not only a good friend, but someone who was actively trying to help him even though he’d hurt him. Porthos came to stand in front of him, gentle understanding in his eyes. “If you can’t talk about it, that’s fine, I’m here if ya need me. Would you like to grab a drink, just like old times?” he asked quietly. d’Artagnan nodded eagerly, a bright smile on his face, and their troubles were forgotten. Porthos clapped a hand on his shoulder without even realizing it, and he felt d’Artagnan tense under him, but then he gave him a hesitant smile. With a grin, they drove to a bar near where d’Artagnan used to live and ordered some beers. d’Artagnan looked around at the bar that should not have been as familiar as it was. He’d come here often with him, drinking long into the night only to stagger home. Those had been the good days, the days where they were young and he thought he’d found the one. With a smile, he determinedly listened to Porthos talk about the new deal he was working, and how good the client was. They were each on their second bottle when everything went downhill.

            Porthos set his phone on the counter as he waited from a response from Aramis, and a burly man settled down next to d’Artagnan. Thinking nothing of it, he replied to his boyfriend, not noticing d’Artagnan’s surprised gasp or the pale hue of his skin. The young man trembled as the burly man settled at the bar, and quietly whispered a word to d’Artagnan. The young man whispered fiercely back, and the man turned away. “What eatin’ ‘im?” he asked quietly.

            “Nothing, this is his second bar tonight and he’s had a little too much to drink,” d’Artagnan responded softly, praying that Porthos would leave it at that. Of course he didn’t.

            “He botherin’ you?” the big man demanded.

            “No,” d’Artagnan sighed. With that, they both turned back to their beers, though the conversation was much more stilted than last time. The man glowered at them, but they both just did their best to ignore him. However, all that ended when the man grabbed d’Artagnan’s arm and turned him towards him. He whispered something in d’Artagnan’s ear, and anger flooded the young man’s eyes.

            “Stop it Martin, we’re over! Now go home, you’ve obviously had too much to drink!” he said fiercely. Rage flooded the man’s face, and he brought a large hand across d’Artagnan’s cheek. The young man fell to the floor, and Porthos was out of his seat the moment he did. He stood in front of d’Artagnan and seized the man by both shoulders.

            “Hands off!” he bellowed. What the hell was going on, who was this man?! “You alright?” he asked d’Artagnan.

            “Fine,” he breathed. He staggered up, weaving towards the bathroom. Porthos growled and shook the man a little.

            “When I get back from getting’ ‘im, you better be gone, or I’m callin’ the cops,” he growled. The man only glared at him, but yelled for his tab when Porthos let go.  Porthos entered the bathroom cautiously, only to find d’Artagnan draped over the sink and breathing heavily. He walked slowly towards him, and d’Artagnan turned towards him with a gasp, tears running freely down his cheeks. “C’mon, let’s get you home,” Porthos said quietly.

\---

            He put the phone back where he’d found it on the counter, the boy’s number input into his phone. He grinned as he watched the “Find My Friend” App download on his phone.

\---

            Porthos grabbed his phone and paid their tab before leading d’Artagnan to his car. As they drove away, Porthos turned towards him. “Can I ask who that was?” he asked quietly.

            “Martin Lebarge, an old friend,” d’Artagnan said quietly.

            “Didn’t seem too friendly,” Porthos observed.

            “He was, at first. We started dating when I was twenty-one and went on for three years. It was good at first, but then he really started drinking and lost his job….I got away after a while, my Mom convinced me that I deserved better and that I needed leave him. After I left him, I moved here,” he said quietly.

            “Is that why ya don’t like me touchin’ ya, because I’m big like him?” Porthos asked quietly.

            “Part of it, my brain just doesn’t seem to register that you’re not him,” d’Artagnan whispered.

            “I promise I’m not, but if you want me to stay away, I understand,” Porthos said quietly.

            “No! No! I understand you’re not him now, you defended me in there, you didn’t hurt me,” d’Artagnan said softly.

            “Yeah, and I’ll keep doin’ it, I promise ya,” Porthos said with a small smile, “Do you want me to walk you home?”

            “No thanks, I’ll be fine, go on and spend some time with Aramis,” d’Artagnan said gratefully. Porthos made sure that he got inside his building before turning away. When he got home, he found Athos and Aramis watching t.v., and he recounted the entire episode to them, fury in his eyes.

            “And you didn’t call the police?” Aramis asked.

            “No, he left before I got d’Artagnan out there, and the lad didn’t talk about pressin’ charges,” Porthos said.

            “He ought to!” Aramis cried, “I’m worried about him.”

            “We all misjudged him,” Athos whispered, “I didn’t think about the reasons.”

            “Wanna drive over?” Porthos sighed with a knowing grin.

            “I’ll drive!” Aramis chirped.

\---       

            d’Artagnan was in his brushing his teeth, the door locked, when the pounding started.

            “I know you’re in there!” the voice bellowed. d’Artagnan’s heart leapt into his throat, and his toothbrush fell into the sink with a clatter.

            “Go home Martin!” he screamed, “Now, or I’ll call the cops!” The pounding only got worse, and he scrambled for his phone, only to find the battery dead. He swore, remembering that it was low when Porthos had dropped by. “I’m calling the police!” he shouted, praying that he wouldn’t call his bluff. Please, please let the neighbors hear some something! The bedroom, he could get into the bedroom! He bolted into the room and slammed the door, locking it from the inside and sitting against it. Just then, there was more shouting, and he breathed shakily.

            Porthos, Aramis, and Athos were two floors away before they heard the yelling.

            “Wild party?” Aramis asked. Porthos didn’t think so, but he only picked up the pace. They arrived at d’Artagnan’s floor and turned the corner towards his apartment. There, pounding on the door in a drunken rage, was Martin Lebarge.

            “Oi!” Porthos bellowed, “Stop!” He ripped Lebarge away from the door and slammed him on the ground. He heard Aramis calling the police, and one punch to the jaw from him had Lebarge slumped unconscious on the floor. Athos took out his spare key and quietly unlocked the door. He bolted towards the closed bedroom and knocked quietly.

           “d’Artagnan,” he said calmly, “d’Artagnan it’s me, it’s safe, Porthos has him!” All of a sudden, the door was yanked open, and he found himself with an armful of trembling d’Artagnan. He led him to the couch and circled his arms around him, whispering soothing nothings in his ear. Aramis joined them, and the police soon arrived. d’Artagnan was led off to answer questions, and Lebarge was carted off. After what seemed hours, d’Artagnan was slumped on the couch.

           “If you hadn’t been here…” he breathed out shakily.

           “We were here, and we’re staying,” Athos whispered. They all curled up on the couch, taking comfort in one another until, one by one, they drifted off to sleep. No one mentioned the fact that d’Artagnan curled into Porthos’ side in his sleep, or the big man’s joyous smile when he did it.


End file.
